


In Belief or Disbelief

by illiadeum (Zombias)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fantasizing, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombias/pseuds/illiadeum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out as a night over at Raven's house due to the late hour. It ends up in her older brother Erik's bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Belief or Disbelief

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt by synekdokee with [this photoset](http://synekdokee.tumblr.com/post/46072526620/theletteraesc-pearlo-pearlo-its): "Charles spends the night at his friend’s house and is given his friend’s brother’s bed to sleep in. He’s woken up by his friend’s big brother coming home in the morning. Sexyness happens."
> 
> Of course, I meant to be for it to be much, much shorter, but, also par for the course, I ran away with it. Woops?

“Oh, come on, Charles, it’ll be fine!” Raven urges, throwing a light, friendly punch to his arm.

“Are you sure, Raven?” Charles asks, rubbing gently at the spot she hit, more out of nervous habit than to sooth any pain there.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine! I mean, it’s really the only way you’re gonna sleep here if you’re gonna sleep here at all - you know what my parents said,” Raven says, then shrugs. “Besides, my brother is rarely ever here, and if he is, he ends up sleeping on the couch watching TV anyway.”

Charles supposes she’s right - the hour is quite late and there’s no way he’d be able to get home at this time of night, not in the state that he’s currently in, tired out of his wits, and Raven’s parents  _had_  forbidden them from sleeping in the same room, as ridiculous as that is. Raven says they’re still the sort that don’t believe in “adult boy-girl parties.”

“I swear that he hasn’t slept in his own bed in weeks,” Raven assures once more, laughing all the while, “I don’t even think he’s stepped into his own damned bedroom in near a month!”

“What does your brother even do?” Charles asks with a tilt of his head as Raven leads him into her brother’s bedroom.

“He’s a full-time student, but he works at the mechanic’s down the street most of the time. I think he mostly works on bikes,” Raven answers with a small shrug as she waves him into the room. “Bed’s there, and there are more blankets and pillows down the hall in the linen closet next to the bathroom if you need them, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Charles says with a small nod, then giving a short pause as Raven turns back around to leave the room. “Raven, are you  _sure_ this is okay? I mean, I can—”

“Charles! It’s fine, I promise. It’s fine,” Raven laughs, hanging about in the doorway to give him a small smile. “Good night, Charles.”

“Good night, Raven,” Charles says back, and after another smile of reassurance, Raven shuts the door, leaving him alone in the room.

Once she’s gone, Charles finally allows himself to look around the room, taking in the bed and the furniture. For the most part, the room is clean and minimalistic, but for maybe the one or two pictures lying around and the map of the world hanging on the far wall above the desk, marked in a few places with thumb tacks and what appear to be dates. The desk itself is just as neat and tidy as the rest of the room, and Charles can’t help but drag his fingers over the edges of the books there - books on how to speak Spanish, French, and Farsi, whole books written in German, and plenty more about politics and various sciences therein.

There’s one book - the _only_ book - lying out and away from the rest, set askew on the edge of the desk. Upon looking, it appears to be a German copy of _Frankenstein_ , full of notes in sharp, elaborate handwriting that stick out in some places. A feeling suddenly surges up in Charles at seeing it, a want to thumb through the pages and watch the bends and sharp corners of that script, but he ignores it instead to move back to the bed, not wanting to pry. He even ignores the urge to align the book properly on the desk to undress himself and sink into bed for sleep.

Peeling back the duvet, he lets out a soft laugh at the sight of the pillows, both laid out in pillow cases made of the world map.

“Thinking of going somewhere, huh?” Charles asks, all to himself alone in the room but still somehow directed at Raven’s older brother. He admires that, at least, the drive her brother seems to have. Charles wants to get out himself, so it’s not like he can blame him.

Laying his head down, he assumes the want to get out is even worse for two adopted children like Raven and her brother, and tries not to think about that too much further, closing his eyes instead for sleep.

The next time he opens his eyes, light is streaming in through the window.

He looks about himself, taking in the foreign view, the light of morning reflecting off walls he didn’t realise before were a light shade of pink. Curious how he didn’t realise before. He looks for a clock through bleary, sleep-tired eyes, and finds that the one on the desk reads 4:58 AM.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, turning back over to hunker down and try and go back to sleep and throwing one arm over his eyes. It’s much too early to be awake, much less _think_ about being awake. The sun should go back to bed.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Charles jerks where he lays and lifts his arm up off his eyes, searching for the voice that asked the question. His eyes land on exposed skin turned soft oranges and pinks in the dawn, the reds and pales mixing together to create a stomach, a torso, a set of shoulders, a perfectly sculpted face and a set of auburn curls that fall into it.

Hardly able to tear his eyes away, Charles says, “Sorry.”

The man - Raven’s older brother? Charles doesn’t even know his name - blinks at him, shuffling around into— oh god, he didn’t have pants on…

“For what?” He asks as he shuffles into his trousers, and it takes Charles a second to realise that he asked him a question.

“For being in your bed,” Charles explains, and though he feels bad for being in it, he doesn’t move much. At this point, he doesn’t think that he can - he’s mostly thanking all of his luck for the fact that there’s blankets on top of his hips and that he’s laying on his side, no thanks to his now-quite-possible morning erection. Er, yes, definitely… _definitely_  a possibility. Or one that may have already occurred. He doesn’t want to say. And the longer the man - his friend’s _brother_ \- stands there without a shirt on, his sweatpants low enough on his hips to reveal to most delicious looking red trail of hair from his navel to under the waistband of his Claiborne boxer-briefs… wait, shit, was he saying something? Oh god…

“That’s fine,” he hears him say, and Charles feels a surge of relief that he didn’t miss too much of his response. “I was just grabbing a change of clothes so I wouldn’t be sitting on the couch in a shirt full of grease.” Charles - helplessly - licks his lips and gives a nod. 

“Yeah,” he says, because it’s all he can manage to say.

“You one of Raven’s?” He asks as he squats down to shuffle through the dresser in the corner for a shirt.

“Huh? Oh, yes, I’m… we’re friends, Raven and I,” Charles nods helplessly. He’s not sure what to do with his body, caught between being polite enough to sit up to address him properly and the fact that he’s hard as a rock. Watching the muscles in his back as he stretches up to rifle through his drawers is  _not_ helping. Charles decides it’s best to just stay on his side, though he’s starting to get uncomfortable.

“Yeah?” Raven’s brother asks as he turns back around to face him, Metallica shirt in hand, reading to pull over his head, and, god, Charles wishes that he knew his name. “I figured, since you’re in my bed and all.”

“ _Wait_ ,” Charles says, and he stops mid-motion of pulling on his shirt to look at him with a startled expression.  _Oh god,_  he thinks, _cover yourself, Charles, you can’t tell him he can’t tell him you didn’t want him to put his own damn shirt on!_ “On your left arm, you’ve got a little, uhm…” The man follows his line of sight, right to a dark spot that lingers on the underside of his left arm.

“Oh,” the other man breathes in what sounds like wonderment… or is it relief? The thought of it being the latter makes Charles’ stomach lurch in fear.

_Then_ , oh god, then, the man pops his thumb into his mouth, and,  _oh,_  that makes Charles’ stomach lurch in an entirely different way. Oh god, oh god, oh  _god,_ Charles resists the whine that bubbles up in him as he pulls his thumb out of his mouth to press it to the dark spot, rubbing the grease away. If he weren’t already hard, he would be now.

“Thank you,” he says, slightly muffled, as he pulls on his shirt the rest of the way. “I’d hate to get this shirt dirty,” he finishes, patting his shirt down on his chest -  _fuck_ , that chest…

“Hey,” the other man says, startling Charles slightly where he lay in his bed. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” Charles hopes he doesn’t sound breathless. “I’m Charles - my name is Charles.”

“Charles,” he repeats, and, god, does he make his name sound lecherous and  _good._ “Hm.”

There’s a slightly suspended moment then in which his eyes deviate from Charles’ slightly, and a tendril of warm, gleeful tension lets itself be known inside his stomach, curling its way down south, both hoping that he doesn’t notice and hoping that he does—

“I’ll see you around, Charles,” he says, his eyes travelling back up to Charles’, making his breath catch in his throat. “Go back to sleep.”

“Good night,” Charles manages to get out around his dry mouth.

Across from him, Raven’s brother smiles softly at him - perhaps knowingly, Charles can’t tell - then turns and leaves the room, shutting the door as quietly behind himself as possible.

Once he’s sure that his footsteps have retreated down the hall and down the staircase, Charles finally allows himself to turn onto his back with a sigh of relief, his erection straining at this point as he stares up at the ceiling.

His hand slithers down, past his boxers, forgoing touching his chest for the fact that he’s already so hard in his pants. He grips himself hard and feels a wash of shame come over him for masturbating in someone else’s bed - for masturbating in the bed of the person he’s masturbating  _to_ , for  _having_  to masturbate in the first place (goddamn it, he’s seventeen, he should be over this by now!), and all when he doesn’t even know his goddamn  _name._

“Fuck,” he hisses, not meaning to, stroking himself faster through his shorts. He knows he isn’t going to last very long.

He clenches his eyes shut and grips himself tightly in his fist, precome acting as all the lubricant that he needs, and, god,  _is_  he ashamed that he’s already that far gone, he is, but he’s—  _he’s—_

“ _Shit,_ ” he curses, and then bites his wrist to calm himself as he comes in his fist, his come spattering against his boxers, sure to leave a stain and a mark.

Distantly, as he comes down from strained muscles and arched back, he hopes he hasn’t stained the duvet, this duvet that belongs to another, another to whom he just masturbated.

As the last feelings of orgasm pass over him, he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

He’s doomed.


End file.
